


Blinded me with Science

by moonblossom



Series: Fluid Dynamics [5]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Fluff, Friendship, Humour, M/M, Parallels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an attempt to quell Sherlock's boredom, John drags him to the K-Science labs. He ends up learning a little bit about himself in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinded me with Science

**Author's Note:**

> So recently, Ankamo drew me [this incredible illustration](http://archiveofourown.org/works/988661) of Sherlock in his Baker Bee piloting suit. Go look at it! It inspired me to write more in this verse, and I figured it was time for my two OTPs to meet and commiserate. ;)
> 
> Huge thanks to overthemoon for looking this over, and humouring me when I intentionally chose to ignore her advice, and to LadyGrey for help with the German. If it's mangled, that is my fault.

The way Sherlock has his legs hanging off the edge of the gantry makes John nervous, though he can't quite pinpoint why. They're sitting up by the Bee's head, staring down at her as the crew clambers around and makes some minor repairs. Sherlock keeps kicking his boots against the corrugated metal, the _clang-and-thump_ echoing up to the ceiling. John grinds his teeth every time.

"You're bored."

Sherlock looks at him and curls his lip irritably, as though he can't even be arsed to utter the _Obvious_ hanging between them. John rolls his eyes and grins at him before turning back to look out over their beautiful metal lady.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were itching for another Kaiju attack."

"It's been _three days_ , John," Sherlock whines. As if three days is just way too long for any reasonable human being to wait for another giant monster attack. As if the people living in every single port city aren’t trying to move forward and cling to the hope that they won't be next. John would be more upset with Sherlock if he wasn't feeling a bit of it himself. Itching for another adrenaline rush. Or at least for something to do besides fight or fuck off the excess energy that keeps up a low, constant hum, buzzing through every occupant of the Shatterdome.

An epiphany strikes John. Sherlock's incredibly intelligent; in their downtime, John’s caught him poring over chemistry texts, historical records of particularly exceptional crimes, and forensic manuals scavenged from who-knows-where, and John suspects that had he not got the idea into his head to become a Ranger, Sherlock might have become a detective or a forensic analyst or something of that ilk. Learning and studying new things seems to keep him entertained and occupied in a way that nothing besides piloting does. It may not be a live Kaiju, but he thinks it's about time Sherlock paid a visit to the entertaining weirdos in K-Science.

He unfolds himself from the gantry and dusts his trousers off before holding a hand out to Sherlock. Sherlock cocks his head curiously, but accepts it nonetheless, sliding his surprisingly warm fingers into John's grip.

"I suppose you're taking me back to our quarters? Really John, as much as I enjoy fucking you, this cannot be your answer every time I get bored." He emphasises the word _fucking_ , and for a moment John nearly loses his resolve.

Giving Sherlock what he hopes is an enigmatic smile, John merely turns and heads towards the lift that will take them back to ground level. Once they're in the lift, John makes a point of standing a reasonable distance away from Sherlock, although the urge to pin him against the wall and snog him senseless had indeed crossed John’s mind. Sherlock studies John intently, eyes glittering and unfathomable in the low light of the lift.

As they step out, Sherlock turns and heads towards the sleeping quarters. The perplexed look on his face as John starts heading in the opposite direction is priceless and John barks out a laugh.

"Come on, then. You think I haven't learnt to keep you on your toes? Wouldn't want you wrecking my room in another fit of boredom."

"Where are we going, John?"

"Sherlock, have you really not bothered to explore the other parts of the base since you got here?"

"Why should I?" Sherlock shrugs dramatically, and John finds himself momentarily distracted by the rise and fall of the snug cotton t-shirt he's wearing. John shakes his head and coughs. Sherlock continues, undaunted. "All that mattered before were the simulators and the training ground. All that matters now is whichever bay the Bee is loaded into, the LOCCENT, and our quarters."

John sighs, and Sherlock recants. "And, I suppose, the commissary, although your obsession with eating continues to amaze me."

"Sherlock! I eat three square meals a day, and a snack after physical training. That's not obsessive; that's vital. If I didn't make sure you ate with some regularity, you'd faint while we're Drifting, and I am not dealing with that. And honestly, there's a lot more to this place than just the things you rattled off. I genuinely think you'll appreciate where I'm taking you."

When they get to the entrance of K-Science, the strains of an argument in harsh, bickering German carry out into the hallway. John hesitates, hand hovering over the door.

"Maybe we should come back."

Before he has a chance to turn around, Sherlock barges into the room.

"Ich fürchte, Sie liegen beide falsch." The words roll smoothly off Sherlock's tongue and John goggles at him.

"I didn't know you spoke German!" he hisses under his breath.

"John, the things you do not know about me could fill a Conn-Pod."

Rubbing his face in his hands, John shuffles into the lab after Sherlock. Both scientists are staring at Sherlock in shock, as though they can't quite believe a Ranger had the audacity to suggest either of them were wrong.

"Dinosaurs did not have a secondary brain of any sort, that was a misconception. They now postulate that the cavity contained stores of necessary glucogen," Sherlock says, barging across the lab and pointedly stepping over a squishy blue pile of... something. He begins making corrections to a drawing on a whiteboard, despite the tattooed scientist's sharp protestations. The quieter, mousy-looking one leans back in his chair and grins, as though having his partner proven wrong is its own reward, even if it means he was incorrect too.

In an attempt to smooth things over, John tries feebly to make introductions. "Sherlock, this is Dr. Gottlieb and Dr. Geiszler, the primary research team down here. I thought you might find their lab interesting. Doctors, this is my partner, Sherlock Holmes."

The one with the rumpled hair and tattoos thrusts a hand out in a gesture of pure cocky posturing. "Your statement about the dinosaurs is irrelevant, because we know for a fact the Kaiju do in fact have a secondary brain. I've seen them. Call me Newt. That there is Hermann, but don't be upset if he doesn't interact with you. We don't let him out of his cage very often."

Dr. Gottlieb splutters and spits out, nearly under his breath, "I have asked you not to use my given name around new people!"

Sherlock cocks his head, studying the two of them intently, and for a fleeting moment John regrets bringing him here.

"You hide it well, the two of you. The bickering is clearly affectionate, but don't worry, most people wouldn't assume so," Sherlock says.

Newt's eyebrows rise, well above the thick rims of his ridiculous glasses, and John swallows down a guffaw. Dr. Gottlieb's cheeks flush lightly, but he remains otherwise unmoved, and John knows Sherlock's deduction was correct. Of course it was.

Apparently unable to contain his curiosity, Newt's face lights up and he points at Sherlock. "I've heard about you! Go on then, how'd you figure it out?" It doesn't sound like a challenge, it sounds as though he genuinely wants to know.

Sherlock preens for a moment, fingers pressed together dramatically under his chin. John rolls his eyes and smiles fondly.

"It's quite evident, really. Both of your lips are swollen and rosy, far more than the dry atmosphere down here would normally generate. You appear to have both been here for quite some time, and I see no other people in the general vicinity. Logically, then, kissing each other. Furthermore, Dr. Gottlieb's walking aid -- I have seen you in the hallways, I am aware of your impediment, Doctor -- is resting on Newton's desk. Dr. Gottlieb, you have not stood up since we came in. Lastly, your sense of dress, unlike your partner's, is precise and impeccable, and yet one of your shirt tails is un-tucked and escaping from your jumper. All signs point to the fact that we have interrupted far more than a simple argument. An argument, might I add, that was a thinly veiled cover for a declaration of love. It's almost charming."

"Well, shit," Newt blurts out, but he's laughing. Dr. Gottlieb is nodding his head in silent appreciation. John knew that if anyone would understand Sherlock's strange quirks, it would be these two.

Everyone's ruffled feathers thus soothed, Newt offers to show Sherlock around the lab; an offer Sherlock eagerly accepts. Relieved, John sinks into an empty chair to the side of Dr. Gottlieb's desk.

"That could have ended in disaster, you are aware." Dr. Gottlieb's voice is quietly amused.

John's looking at the physicist, who is in turn studying Newt and Sherlock, who are alternating between good-natured scientific bickering and fawning over a preserved Kaiju skin mite.

"I feel like a lot of things with Sherlock could theoretically end in disaster. But he needs stimuli. When he gets bored, his mind races. It's..." John trails off.

"Dangerous?" Dr. Gottlieb offers. "Newton is very much the same way. Brilliant, but without an outlet for that brilliance, I think he'd burn himself out." There's an insightful twinkle in his eye and John catches on. They're more alike than he'd realised. He was right, coming in here.

"You and I, Captain Watson, are the anchors. Brilliant in our own ways, but content to be quiet and stable. They are like Zeppelins; high above us all, and somewhat explosive. Whether they acknowledge it or not, they need us to ground them, to balance them."

John debates denying the implication that he and Sherlock are together, but before he has time to voice his objections, Dr. Gottlieb holds up a hand to silence him.

"Do you forget your quarters are close to mine, Captain Watson?" Gottlieb asks. His smile is not unkind, and John finds himself smiling back before stealing another glance and Sherlock and Newt, who have moved on to gleefully and loudly performing a necropsy of the skin mite.

"What have we gotten ourselves into, Dr. Gottlieb?" John asks, rubbing the bridge of his nose and still staring at the two flamboyant idiots.

"Quite a mess, I'd say, but a rather satisfying one, is it not? It is also nice to have an ally in all this, Watson."

"I think maybe after this nonsense you can call me John."

"I suppose then, it might not be that awful if you chose to refer to me as Hermann."

John nods and holds his hand out, and they shake on it. He sinks into a nearby chair, comfortably tuning out the amicable argument from the biology side of the lab. Hermann picks up a pencil and begins scribbling away at one of his notebooks. It may be the most peace and comfort John's experienced in years.

So of course, the Kaiju proximity sirens go off. It's a testament to Sherlock's newfound respect for Newt, and his interest in learning new things, that he doesn't even react at first. After a moment though, he registers the siren and spins around to look at John, eyes shining with excitement.

There's a crackle up John's spine, a rush of adrenaline, and he bolts out of his seat, meeting Sherlock by the door. They turn to Hermann and Newt, who just grin and wave them to the door; obviously they're used to this sort of behaviour. But there's an unspoken agreement hanging in the air, everyone knows they'll be back.


End file.
